


those old town rags

by RocksCanFly



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas, Hetalia: Axis Powers, The Magnus Archives (Podcast), 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Magnus Archives Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Femdom, Gen, Hate Sex, M/M, Unsafe Lab Practices, manipulate your friends for power and victory, stab your boyfriend for geopolitical dominance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:42:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23374870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RocksCanFly/pseuds/RocksCanFly
Summary: Its 2020 and Covid19 has everyone resurrecting fandoms from 2009 and writing drabbles. Here are some of mine.
Relationships: America/Russia (Hetalia), Craig Boone & Courier (Fallout), Hatsume Mei/Iida Tenya
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	1. Russia/America: Combat Centered Hatesex for the Modern Age

**Author's Note:**

> I'm getting ready to ruin any reputation I had on posting the truncated leavings of scenes that won't leave my head. This will probably be mostly femdom and hatesex. Buckle up?

America laughed, electric. “This was supposed to be over thirty years ago,” he sneered. The sedated edge of his k-bar danced at Russia’s throat, a white hot line of intent against his jugular. “But you just don’t know when to fucking  _ quit _ . Huh, Bravinski?” 

Russia smiled politely back, ice cold pleasantries to America’s feral grin. “Oh  _ darling _ ,” he crooned, and pressed the gun in his hand firmly against America’s ribs, nudging between his ribbones, towards his heart. “That is  _ my _ line.”

America froze, spacious-skies eyes widening. His wolf’s grin fell at the corners, before rallying, widening manic and  _ hungry _ . America leaned further in, surging up into the cold press of metal against his ribs like greeting a lover. His thigh slid up between Russia’s, hot pressure and fire. “Hello gorgeous,” America breathed, longing, pressing warm lips against the soft skin behind Russia’s ear. “It’s been too long.” 

The next five minutes was a blur of flying fists and tangling limbs. America scored a cut to Russia’s collar bone, Russia’s pipe sent ringing through America’s ears as it crashed against the back of his skull. It was a full blown brawl, as bloody and vicious as the salt sweet memories of their long war that America pressed close to his breast at night. America was laughing, Russia snarling, equally furious and delighted at their return to open enmity, if only for this night, if only in these crumbling ruins of yet another nation caught blooded and struggling between them.

They ended with America pressed tight against bullet hole ridden plaster, long legs hitched right against Russia’s waist. They savaged one another’s mouths, chasing the tang of copper, the throaty sting of burned cordite. 

America twisted his fingers in the cool ends of Russia’s hair, dragging blunt nails in red lines against the other nation’s scalp as he yanked his head back, pressed his mouth against the underside of Russia’s chin. Russia grunted as blunt teeth gnawed at his pulse point, hips hitching helplessly against the hard heat of America against him. His fingers dug into the line of America’s fatigues, kneading and groping at his full ass. 

“Missed this,” America whined, biting sharp at the corner of Russia’s jaw, yanking his hair at the roots. “Missed the way you always fight  _ back _ .” 

Russia hitched America further up his waist, taking his weight on one arm. His other hand, now free, slid up the other nation’s side to his neck. Roughly, Russia pressed America to the wall, choking him. He leaned up, pressing his lips softly against America’s snarling, gasping mouth. “My dearest sunshine,” Russia said softly, tasting America’s mouth as he choked uselessly for air. “I never stopped fighting you.”


	2. Hatsume/Iida: Domineering Bitch Eats Out Muscle Sub, More at 10:00

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short bit of crossdressing Tenya getting dicked down by Mei. Aged up characters (they're professional adults y'all).

Hatsume wiped her hands clean on a rag, backing Tenya up until the man’s spine made contact with the sharp edge of her workbench. 

Mei grinned, teeth sharp as she traced a hand up Tenya’s stockinged leg, playing with the lace cuffs of his thigh highs before slipping her hand up his skirt to palm the thickening heat trapped behind his lace boy shorts.

“Aww! You dressed up for our date!” She sing-songed, stepping between Tenya’s legs and urging the man to sit on the workbench. She leaned in, nose nudging behind Tenya’s ear to inhale the citrus sweat of him. “Pretty boy,” she purred, both hands trailing up Tenya’s inner thighs, hiking his short skirt up to his hips. Her blunt nails dug into his inner thighs as she spread him for her, eyes dilating at the wink of silver nestled between his cheeks as she urged him down onto her workspace. “What do ya think? Should I eat you out before I dick you down?”


	3. Spider in the Desert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boone sleeps, Six keeps watch.

Six settled back against Boone, the two of them propping the other upright with the weight of their tired bodies. She watched the last strains of light fade from the sky as she began her half of the watch. As dark fell she felt the steady rise of Boone’s chest through their thin shirts. His breathing was slow and even as exhaustion finally carried him off to sleep. 

“I’m sorry,” she said to the empty desert. The rock under her palms still radiated warmth, soaked in from the Mojave sun. She scrubbed her hands against it, desperate for its warmth to leech in and chase away the cold settled in her stomach. “Don’t want this for you, kid.”

The man at her back was quiet, even breaths shifting his spine against hers, pressing their ribs together like interlacing fingers. Dead to the world, deaf to the useless confessions of the sun-wrinkled woman at his back. 

Six thumbed the safety off and on her pistol, free hand tracing the silver engravings. “Benny had it coming,” she muttered. “He was a rat, and he knew what he was playing with. Dumb bastard tried to fuck over the Web. Of all the gods to try to trick—” 

She swallowed, burying her head in her arms. She bit down on the faded checker print of her sleeve, sweet dust and old blood filling her mouth. She took one breath, then another, in and out until she was no longer at risk of cracking, of shouting.

She’d already taken so much from Boone. Was fixing to take more. Least she could save for him was a little shut eye. 

Boone was a good man. A kid, really. A sweet one, before war and its violences made their mark on him. Even then Six was certain he hadn’t been any sort of marked by one of the entities. 

It had been Carla, the striking personal loss of her, the framing of his murder of his wife as mercy. Six had thought it’d been that night with herself in his red beret, a splotch of blood in the blues of the desert scrub. The thud of a body in the dirt at her feet as a crack rang through the air like justice. She’d believed that was the blood in the water, the bait that let the Hunt sink its teeth into him. 

Now she knew it was his desperate crawl, no water, no food, just ugly endless hunger and rage driving him after fading footprints in the sand. The Hunt had had him since he set himself in that nest, waiting for days for them to drag his love out into the open air. His death knell was his own bullet through Carla’s throat, through the metal collar they’d shackled around her neck. Six’d had no hand in that. 

But she was the one who’d taken him, brought him along to chase the Bull from the Mojave. She didn’t have a choice, really—Caesar was gearing up to feed half the Mojave to the Slaughter. She was powerful, but the Web needed its chess pieces.

“You’re lost to it now,” she rasped. Gently, she set Benny’s Maria down at her side. Carefully, moving as slowly and delicately as her worn nerves would allow her, she reached over her own shoulder to rest her fingertips against his. She held her breath, memorized the solid warmth of another living body at her back. “You’re mine now. My responsibility. And when it's time, when you’re...not you, anymore…” 

Six gripped his shirt tight as she dared, eyes shut tight against tears she’d long thought dried up. “I’ll make it fast,” she muttered. “You deserve that much.” 

Warm muscle shifted against her back and her stomach dropped, twilight bravery blown out like the last embers of a campfire at the possibility that he might’ve actually heard her. Confessional aside, there were a lot of men on the other side of the ridge. And she needed a partner. Not just for the shooting. Webs worked best when stretched wide, and if Six was going to beat the Slaughter she needed to catch as many do-gooders and would be heroes into her own as she could get.

Lucky for her, he settled, snuffling lightly as he fought off whatever monster dogged his steps in his dreams. 

Six sighed, patting him lightly before withdrawing her hand. “Sleep well kid,” she murmured. “Sweet dreams.” 


End file.
